The Cabot Academy
by Wenny T
Summary: DISCONTINUED. Paul. Suze. Jesse. Father Dom. Kelly. Mia. Michael. Grandmere. Lilly. Lana. Sam. David. Lucy. Rebecca. Kris. Jenny. Scott. Luke. Rob. Jess. Together. Teaching. In the Cabot Academy. Watch out, my darlings.
1. An Owl, A Letter and A Voice

**

* * *

**

A/N:

**Well... So this is a new story of mine. It's a Mediator-well, not exactly Mediator, I guess, because it does include other characters from Meg's books- parody, and would involve quite a few real life characters in the plot. Umm... I wouldn't include a summary here, because it's a little confusing to explain. But anyway, just bear with me and read; and also, if you have the time, gimme comments on how to improve it! Yeah, well...**

**Thanks to James (Boothy), Adel, Jess, Cassy, Lauren, Stella (Starry), Sarah, Alex (Claves) and Hayley for letting me use your names! You darlings will come in the second chappie, I promise.**

**And Adel, thanks again for being me beta! -snoggles-**

**And well, that's it. Do review!

* * *

**

CABOT ACADEMY

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Suze ran a finger over her immaculately manicured nails as she lifted her gaze to the man who was standing in the middle of her pink, colonial-styled bedroom. She was wearing a ripped T-shirt that said _C'mere Lover_, and a black Calvin Klein miniskirt. Sighing in boredom, she leant back and crossed her legs. "What._

"_Susannah, I-I" He sputtered in frustration and raked his hand over his tousled dark curls, some of it falling over his eyes. He was wearing black from head to toe; a silk black shirt coupled with leather pants. "Do you really not care about me!"_

"_What're you saying, Jesse?" She drawled as she lounged on her bed. "Your GAY. How am I gonna continue a real relationship with you." _

"_But Susannah--"_

_He said, wringing his hands together. "Querida, if you refuse to get back together with me, I will be ruined. RUINED. Your not so heartless, I think to fling me ot the dogs." She snorted._

"_Your a doctor, Jesse. How can being GAY interfere with being a doctor? It's not the 1850s anymore people are really open nowadays."_

"_But I—"_

"_Jesse I have to be with a real man. Someone who doesn't dream of going out with a guy when hes going out with me. Someone like.. Paul."_

"_THAT BASTARDO? SUSANNAH HOW COULD YOU. HE'S A MURDERER." Jesse screamed at her—_

Seventeen-year-old Evanne Remington paused in the midst of typing her new piece of Meg Cabot's _Mediator_ fanon novel _Not What He Is_, which seemed to have become rather popular on FanFiction. Net, as it had garnered exactly three hundred and forty-eight reviews for eighteen chapters. Not a bad feat considering that she was a first timer. Granted, there were flames as well as reviews, but mostly the flames' numbers were insignificant compared to the amount of people who urge her to update...and update and update.

She grinned at the monitor; feeling supremely pleased with herself as she tapped her left hand's fingers against the keyboard, and pushed up her spectacles –which had slipped down— with the other. Hmm, should she let Suze take pity on Jesse and get back together with him? Or should she... make Suze cast him aside callously and pursue Paul?

Hmm... Decisions, decisions. _Tap, tap, tap,_ went her fingers on the keyboard.

_Tappity tap! _Wait a minute. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. That wasn't the rhythm of her fingers. Someone..._something_ else was tapping!

_Tap tap tappity tap TAP!_ A short scream burst out of her throat involuntarily as she jumped slightly in her chair. It's just a branch outside the window, is all, she consoled herself. Sure, it might have been three in the morning, and her room was dark save her glow of her monitor and her desk lamp, but... she shouldn't be so stupid as to be frightened by silly old branch, right?

Nevertheless, she grabbed her baseball bat and pull out her pepper spray from underneath a pile of dirty clothes lying on the floor before turning around warily...

...Only to shriek like a banshee at a ghostly lump of white sitting outside on the ledge of her window sill.

Which happened to be an owl, actually.

"Jesus," she breathed. "_Jesus_. Bloody_ Hell. _You scared the stuffing out of me." Abandoning her bat and spray on her desk, she headed over to the window and opened it slightly. The owl flapped its wings slightly to maintain its balance as the window pushed it off it's already precarious perch.

"Um... Hi. What do you want, er... Mr. Owl?" Evanne said cautiously as it hopped dignifiedly –when, as dignified as an owl would look— onto her bedpost and hooted softly. It pecked her fingers gently as answer and held out its right claw. There was... There was a _scroll_ tied to it.

Evanne blinked in confusion, and pulled the scroll off its feet while muttering "What is this,_ Harry Potter_?" Rolling it open –which was no easy feat, as the scroll was secure shut with a long length of velvety twine and many dead knots, she stared in astonishment at the message on it.

_Dear Ms. Remington,_

_We're pleased to announce that you have earned yourself a place at the Cabot Academy of Prose and Fiction. This is an institution set up for young, aspiring writers of The Great Authoress, Meg Cabot's fiction, and who, have been selected from all over the world to enroll into the prestigious liceum, where they would be taught to rein in their more creative impulses and produce realistic , as well as moving prose. _

_The faculty extends their congratulations and would also like to welcome you to an exciting, fulfilling and fruitful year with them. Term begins in six hours, and we await your letter of confirmation till no later than six hundred hours. Enclosed is also the schedule for your classes. An escort will also be arriving briefly to lead the way for you._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Bloomington_

_The Assistant Headmaster of the Cabot Academy of Prose and Fiction_

_Postscript: No, we are not emulating Rowling's_ Harry Potter_. Please. The Cabot Academy has been established since January 1998, whilst the Potter books only came out during the year of 1999. This has been our custom ever since the opening of the school._

"Okay..." Evanne murmured in confusion as she looked up from the cryptic letter to the hooting owl. What was she supposed to do? Was this a joke? She had never heard of the Cabot Academy of Prose and Fiction before. Should she write an acceptance letter and send it back on the owl, like what she read in Harry Potter? Or dismiss it as a stupid prank –which was the more likely of the two choices.

Yeah, that's it. Some stupid prankster must be getting his kicks somewhere over how Evanne was puzzling over his ludicrous idea of a joke. Like hell she was going to believe this. Ambling across her room, she started to crumple the piece of paper –vellum, actually, with a coat-of-arms that had to be the school crest set as a watermark in the paper— when a voice resonated behind her.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Another shriek, slightly loud than the one Evanne had uttered when the owl tapped on her window, burst forth from her lips. She grabbed her baseball bat and swung around, but there was..._nothing_. Her eyes darted to all corners of her room, but again, there wasn't anything at all. Nor anyone. Was she hallucinating? Damn, she should have ignored the itch to continue her piece of fanfic and gone to bed. She must be sleep-deprived, which was no wonder, seeing how the hour hand on her clock was inching to four. Shaking her head, she moved to put the bat onto her desk when—

"Yeah, I agree. Anyway, sleep deprivation not only cause hallucination, y'know. You'll have huge eye bags and quite a few zits in the morning, I bet." The disembodied voice commented rather cheerfully, considering the circumstances.

Evanne tightened her grip on her bat until her fingertips were white from the pressure and asked the room in general shakily, "W-Who's there?"

"God, you're actually scared of me. _Me_." Now The Voice was amused. It was a masculine voice; deep, smooth and well... a little sexy, to be honest. Evanne just wished that it had a _body_. "No one, girls in particular, has ever been scared of me, y'know," The Voice continued, the amusement that was evident in it a moment ago vanishing and taking on a bitter edge instead. "No one except _her, that is_. She thinks I'm a fricking psychopath."

"I-I really well, um, enjoyed this er—conversation, b-but do you think, erm, whoever o-or whatever you are... D-do you think you c-come come o-out now?" Evanne stammered as she spun first this way and that way, trying to catch a glimpse of _whatever_ that was talking to her.

"Come out? Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot." The Voice murmured absently. Sinking down onto her bed, she placed the baseball bat across her lap and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"H-Hello?" Evanne said uncertainly when what that felt like an hour had passed. There was no sign of the owner of The Voice. Was she... Had she hallucinate about that, too?

"Nah, you didn't hallucinate about me. I just—Hold on for a minute."

Evanne jumped slightly, but managed to suppressed her shriek of terror this time. Strange, The Voice sounded..._strained_. "Um... where are you? I—_Arggggh_!"

A _something_ was trying to escape from her _computer_. It was pulsing and pushing and—and—

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God," Evanne chanted half-hysterically as she shrank further back onto her bed. What was that? She didn't want to look, she didn't need to—

She looked.

It was well...disgusting, for want of a better work. Her poor laptop was bulging all over as though something was locked inside and was trying its very best to break free; and there was the shape of that— _thing_ and it appeared to be— Oh, she didn't know how to describe it; it was just... It look as though that— that _thing_ was a baby, and her poor, innocent laptop was its water bag and— The whole situation reminded her of the movie _The Ring_.

Suddenly, that _thing_ broke free and crawled out of her laptop _a la_ Samara or Sadako, depending on it being the American or Japanese version that you watched. And as it landed with a _thud_ on the tiled floor– seeing how the distance from her laptop to the floor was rather great; courtesy of her desk— she saw that _it_ wasn't a _thing_ at all.

The glow from her computer and her desktop light showed _it_ to be a _him_, actually. And the him was actually a rather attractive young bloke with brown, curly hair, and eyes of an indeterminate light—It wasn't that bright until she could see his eye colour—and looked to be about her age.

And he was currently lying on the floor, clutching his ribs and screwing his face up in pain.

"Um. Er, whoever you are, a-are you okay?" Evanne said, kneeling on her bed and peering over the side to get a better look at him. A groan was heard, then a grunt, and he was...still.

"Hello?" Evanne asked warily as she inched forward until her knees were the only part of her that remained on her bed, and the rest of her was bent over well, whoever _he_ was. She tapped him gently on the shoulder and emitted another "Hello?"

No response.

She poked him in the ribs.

"_Yeargh_!" The bloke sat up faster than you could have said "Playing Dead" and glared at her. "Could you not" he grumbled, both hands gripping his ribs, and looking a little worse for wear after his tumble from her erm, computer, "be just a little bit more gentle? God."

"I'm sorry for that, but well... I had to ascertain that you weren't dead. It was because well, you were so still and... " She trailed off as something clicked into place in her mind. "Bloody hell, you're The Voice! I was so certain that you were just a, well... apparition."

He shot her an amused look. "Is it just you, or do all British people sound like they'd swallowed a dictionary? But anyway, could ya stop that? I prefer to talk to a person than a book." He got up gingerly, placing a hand onto his ribs and stretching the other out for her to shake. "Anyway, I'm Paul. The escort that's mentioned in your letter."

"Paul?" She said absently as she reached over to switch on the lights in her room. It was then that she got a good look at her unexpected "visitor", if one could call him that. Evanne was half-certain that she was dreaming. "Jesus, you're _Paul_!"

"I thought I'd just introduced myself as that," he said wryly.

"No, I mean... You're _Paul_. Paul _Slater_." She stared at him curiously, with her jaw slack and open. He... well, he look like what she would have imagined him. Brown, curly hair; light, light blue eyes; a roguish grin; rather tanned and dressed in khakis and a black polo T-shirt. "Hell. I'm dreaming. I really am. There is absolutely no bleeding way that this is true. No sirree. Yeah, that's it. I'm going to wake up tomorrow"

He reached over and pinched her on the arm with the hand that was extended to hers for a handshake a moment ago.

"Effing shit! That hurt!" She half-yelped, half-whispered as she remembered that her sleeping parents were somewhere in their house, and that she needed to keep her voice down, lest they come popping by to investigate. Her mother would not be pleased to discover that she had a strange man—or boy?—in her room. But strange, she didn't feel as frightened as she did a minute ago, when he was trying to worm his way literally out of her computer. Rubbing her arm in an attempt to assuage the pain, she glared at him and demanded, "What the hell was that for?"

"You said that you were under the impression that you were dreaming. Thought I'd help ya out with that," He said, trying and failing to hide his grin. "But anyway," he continued, his features wiped clean of any mirth and looking rather serious, "I'm here as an escort to guide you to the Academy. Are you—"

Evanne interrupted him. "Do you mean to say that it's true?" She said in a fascinated manner, staring at him as though he was a new, previously undiscovered animal in a cage at the London Zoo. "That the letter is _real_? There is a _Cabot Academy_? Really? Truly? And...and... _Bloody_ _Hell_. That means... all of you—You're _real_!"

Paul rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Why else would I be here if I'm not real? C'mon." He reached down and pulled her off the bed with one tug. "You need to pack. Have you packed?"

Evanne sank back onto the bed again, staring at Paul in a mixture of rapture and suspicion. "B-But it's inconceivable! Whoever has heard of _fictional characters_, for God's Sake, coming _alive_? And _teaching_ at a school too? Hell. _Hell_. I don't believe it." She shook her head again, as though the act alone would send Paul back to the pages of the Mediator series.

Paul heaved an impatient sigh as he pulled Evanne up again and shove her none-too-gently in the direction of her walk-in wardrobe. "Could you start packing now? Term starts in about four hours, and I'm sure you don't want to be late for the first day."

"Pack? Why pack?" Evanne blinked at him in confusion. "And pack what?"

Paul sighed again, and said in a world-weary tone, "Because you're going to stay at the C.A. for at least a year. Don't you think you need clothes?"

"But... what about uniforms?" Evanne asked while lugging her huge duffel bag out of the bottom of her wardrobe. "Uniforms aren't necessary," Paul began long-sufferingly as he leant against the wall and stuff his hands in his pockets. "Because Cabot Academy is an American school. We aren't as weird in the head as you people on the other side of the pond. We actually allow our students some freedom, y'know."

"Oh." Evanne processed the information, nodded, and finally started throwing clothing and other essential items into her duffel bag. Paul watched her for a moment with an amused look on his face and flicked his gaze about the room in bored interest. He could see from the corner of his eyes that she was throwing glances at him just every other second, and after a few moments of that, he finally gave in to his curiosity and asked, "What?"

She jumped a foot into the air.

"Jeez. Wouldja stop being so jumpy?" Paul arched an eyebrow at her in merriment. "What is it?"

"I just... I just can't believe that you're _real_. And if you're real, it means that Suze, Jesse, Father D, Helen, Andy, Kelly... they're _all_ real too. It's just so...well, _surreal_. I mean, I'm not sure whether to accept this fact or to run to the phone to book me a room in the nearest mental institute. It's well... If you tell me that I'll be conversing with one of my favourite book characters one day, I'll probably tell you that you've gone mental. But I don't know; now it's really happening, and I find that the idea isn't really _that_ barmy anymore. I'm kind of scared by the fact that I'm so quick to accept it as reality." Evanne rubbed the back of her neck with one hand as she continued to stuff her clothes into her bag with the other.

He was silent for a while, and then: "Well... I don't know what to say. You'll get used to it as time goes on, I guess. Anyway, are you all set?" She stuffed her comb and spectacles case into the side of the duffel bag, made sure her laptop was secure before zipping it and hoisting it over her shoulder. "Yeah, I'm finished. But wait!"

He pushed away from the wall and cocked his head. "What is it?"

"My parents. Should I leave them a note?" Evanne asked, her brow furrowing with anxiety. Paul directed his famous smirk towards her and answered, "There's no need for that. During the time when you're enrolled in the Academy, your existence here is forgotten temporarily, and her parents go on for the duration of your stay with no memories of you. When it's time for you to return, false memories are planted in their head, so that they would never realise you were gone." Catching the look of amazed incredulity on her face, Paul added, "It's just a bit of us shifters' powers."

"You mean... They'll just—just forget that there's a me? I won't be remembered? But it's temporary?" Evanne blinked in bewilderment as she tried to process that piece of incredible information in her disbelieving brain. Paul inclined his nod and arched his eyebrow, asking with a tinge of impatience, "Well? Are you ready to go?"

At her uncertain nod, he rolled his eyes and grinned as he grabbed her hand tight and closed his eyes. Seconds later, they dematerialised together with a shower of little multicoloured light sparkles and Evanne's terrified scream. The owl took off from the window sill with a powerful flap of his wings at the high-pitched sound.

Leaving an empty space in the midst of a clean and impersonal-looking bedroom, with the sheets on the bed made behind.

* * *

A/N: Wotcher think of it? Review and tell me! 


	2. Meeting New Friends

**

* * *

**

A/N:

**Well, here's the second chapter. **

**Heaven peeps, this is where you come in! grin Hope you guys won't be displeased or offended by the way I portray you, if it isn't what you pictured.**

**And Adellys, thankies for betaing!**

**Sarah, Meg, Jess, Cassy, Starry, you guys are gonna come in next chappie, I promise!**

**Readers, do review again, please; having reviews make my day!**

**Well...**

**Let the madness being, then!

* * *

**

CABOT ACADEMY

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Well," Paul announced as the two of them landed in a Renaissance-themed hallway with another sprinkle of multicoloured lights, "We're here. Welcome to the Cabot Academy of Prose and Fiction."

But Evanne barely heard him, distracted as she was. Neither did she notice the grandiosity of the seemingly endless passageway she was currently standing in too. No, she was too busy staring at Paul as though he had, to use a clichéd statement, grown another head. On his stomach. That were covered with pus-oozing warts. That were a disgusting shade of purple in colour.

"Did you just _Apparate_?" Evanne breathed in a mixture of awe, perplexity –because Meg's character was displaying characteristics that Rowling had invented for Pete's sake-, and plain old curiosity. "I mean... We disappeared from my house a second ago, and appeared here a second later, my chest felt as thought it was squeezed by bands of _something_... _All_ the symptoms are there! Blimey, if that isn't Apparating, what is?"

Paul scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets in exasperation. "No, I didn't Apparate! I _dematerialised_. There's a difference! Why are you so obsessed with Harry Potter when you're writing Mediator fanfiction, huh? We shifters and ghosts, according to Meg, _de-ma-te-ria-lise_. It's stated in all the books of the Mediator series."

Evanne waved her hand at him dismissively upon hearing his last sentence and rolled his eyes. "Apparating is the act of disappearing from one location and appearing at another location. Which was basically what you just did. Therefore, you know how to Apparate. Stop denying it." She shoved up her spectacles –which had slipped down again- and peered at him in interest. "Can you teach me?"

Paul lifted his eyes skywards and pulled his hands out of his pockets in a gesture that screamed _Why me?_ Sucking in a deep breath, he said in a resigned voice, "I. Do. Not. Apparate. I. _Dematerialise_. Can we drop it now?"

Evanne blinked in confusion, and then shrugged. "Well, _okay_. You should have said that in the first place."

When Paul gaped at her in disbelief and starting making strange noises in his throat, she leaned forward and banged him hard on his back. Too hard, as a matter of fact, because he started choking on his spit. "Hey, are you all right? Did you swallow a fly? Because I could've sworn that I saw one buzzing around a second ago, and now it's gone. What does it taste like, anyway?"

Paul reached behind him and yanked off her hand with a little more force than necessary. He straightened up –well as straight as he could managed at the moment, seeing how he was doubling over in coughing spasms a moment before- and sagged against the wall. Evanne moved closer, her face wrinkled in concern, and made to thump his back again. "Are you okay? Did the fly go down the wrong way?"

Paul cleared his throat and managed a "I'm fine. And no, I didn't swallow a fly. God, I just..." Upon seeing Evanne's hand nearing his back again, his composure broke and he pushed away from the wall, yelping, "_No_!"

Evanne paused, her hand in mid-air as she considered his strange attitude in puzzlement and a tinge of worry. "What's wrong? Did your swallowing of the fly mess up your constitution?"

Paul resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall, irritated and incredulous as he was, and managed to emit a strangled, "_I didn't swallow a fly._"

Evanne cocked her head in mystification. "I could have sworn you did. Swallowed a fly, I mean. Which was certainly buzzing around a little while ago. And which is most definitely not around now."

Paul closed his eyes and counted to ten, swallowing his impulse to inform her that the goddamn fly may have flown off to another place in the Academy. "What you saw –and swore to— was wrong. I didn't swallow anything at all; dead or living." On seeing that Evanne was opening her mouth —presumably to argue the fact on whether a fly had entered his digestive system or not; personally, he was betting that she was going to say that he didn't realise that he had swallowed it, but he wasn't really particularly keen to extend the discussion, so he added hastily, "And, c'mon. I gotta bring you to your room."

"Okay?" Evanne said uncertainly. Rolling his eyes, Paul grabbed her arm and moved to pull her alone, only to be stopped by her yelp. Paul sighed in forced patience and muttered, "What is it?"

Evanne was staring in awe at her surroundings; she had registered them at last. The hall was decorated in shades of white, gold, and other colours that she couldn't named. There were paintings and murals and sculptures... By right, the hallway should look overwhelmed by the humungous amount of decorations, but instead, it looked just... _right_. Wandering along the length of it, she let out an admiring sigh at one particularly beautiful painting of Venus de Milo. "They're just so _beautiful_..."

Paul heaved yet another long-suffering sigh and resisted the temptation to shift Evanne to the Shadowland and leave her there; an action that earned him the condemnation of many Mediator readers when he had did that to his younger brother as a joke three years ago, in the fifth book of the Mediator series. Although this time, he was tempted to do it for real. Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes and tugged her arm and pulled her along, ignoring her protests that she hadn't finish viewing the whole of the passageway, and just where was he dragging her to?

"I'm taking you to your room," Paul announced as he continued down the hallway, eager to escape from his duty as Student's Escort, and head for the Staff Room... He was suddenly seized by a longing to see Suze; not that he needed any excuse to flee from the company of Evanne Remington; she seemed a little touched in the head, and he was more than a little worried that _he_ would go round the bend himself if he spent more time around her and her convoluted sentences. "Term starts in two hours... I'm sure you need time to freshen up and unpack all your stuff. Your schedule will be handed out to you later at nine in the morning in the cafeteria."

Evanne nodded absently, his words only half-heard as she gaze longingly at a portrait of Byron, the Lord of Poets.

* * *

Paul led Evanne to a room with "666" on the brass plaque. Noticing Evanne's alarmed expression upon sighting the number of the room she was assigned to, Paul assured her as he fitted the key into the keyhole of her room and twisted, "Don't worry... You won't be having Satan as a roommate, I promise. We at the Cabot Academy don't believe in superstitions."

He swung open the door to a pleasant room wallpapered in woodland scenery, with two beds –one to the left and the other on the right— with a large window flanked by filmy curtains in the middle, and a spacious desk below it. A huge wardrobe stood to the right side of the door, and another door to the left, which probably led to the bathroom.

Evanne noted that her roomie seemed to have arrived, judging from the turned-down covers of the bed to the right and the posters of... surprise; a broom-wielding Cedric Diggory from _Harry Potter_ plastered over the right wall – the snog marks were evident all over them— and an "I love Paul Slater" banner hung crookedly across the wardrobe and a folded sweatshirt that said "The Holy Infant Girls' Convent" sat on top of a wooden desk in front of the window.

Paul smirked at the sight of the banner proclaiming the affections of Evanne's roommate to him and said, with barely suppressed laughter while passing the key –an antiquely thing, what with it being made out of brass and all, "Well, this is your room. I think you'll be meeting with your roommate soon, I suspect she's out scouring the campus grounds for me," (And with that his smirk widened.) "But anyway, hurry up and unpack, because you'll have to be down at the Entrance Hall sharp on nine. Don't lose your way navigating through the passages, okay? Bye then, I have to get back to the Staff Rooms."

And with that, he strode off. Or started to, because a "Wait!" from Evanne brought him up short again. Sighing impatiently, he arched his eyebrow and leant back in through the doorway. "What is it?"

"Will you be teaching me?" Evanne asked him nervously, fingering the zip on her duffel bag, a first sign of awkwardness from her since Paul arrived in her bedroom via her computer the night before.

Paul twisted a corner of his mouth wryly. "I'll most definitely be teaching, but it depends if you'll be in my class."

And with a wave of his hand, he was gone.

Evanne stared after him, a knot of anxiety starting to build in her stomach. Disbelief over the fact that this... _encounter_ was not something that you'll get into every other day –in fact, a small part of Evanne was still convinced that she was dreaming— aside, she was now at a new school.

Where nobody knew her.

And she knew no one.

Dumping her bag onto the left bed, she slumped in one of the mahogany chairs—there were two— placed in front of the desk. How to start making friends? How to ensure that she would not become a social outcast? How to make sure that she wouldn't become the butt of everyone's jokes? How to—

"_I know with just one breath, You created the whole earth, I know if I don't praise You_—Oh!"

Evanne turned around in her chair, interrupted from her worried musings, too see an Asian girl with long, wavy brown hair that reached her waist gapping at her, an MP3 held loosely in her fingers. Since she seemed incapable of speech at the moment, Evanne smiled tentatively and stuck her hand out, before withdrawing it because the girl obviously could not shake it from such a great distance, "Hi... You must be my new roommate. I'm Evanne. What's your name?"

The girl emitted another "Oh!" again before walking closer, tucking back a piece of dark brown hair that had fallen across her eyes. She grinned shyly as she neared Evanne and stuck out her own hand, "Hi there... I'm Adel. Short for Adelyna; what's yours short for?"

"Nothing, it's just plain old Evanne." Evanne shook her hand, glad that she had an amiable roommate, at the very least. "Where're you from?"

"Kuala Lumpur," Adel said, retrieving her hand to tuck back another curl behind her ear. Her brown eyes twinkled as she studied Evanne with friendly interest and added, "The capital of the Federation of Malaysia. It's in South East Asia. You're British, right? I can tell from the accent."

"Bingo." Evanne stood up as she started to unzip her duffel bag, dumping her clothes and accessories onto her chosen bed. Sorting her belongings into piles of clothing, cosmetics, books, stationery and others, she spoke over her shoulder, "We learnt a little about Malaysia in fourth form. Mostly it was about your leaders being brave enough to stand up towards the racist prats that had governed us at that time and fight for your independence."

Catching Adel's puzzled look, Evanne added, "That's sophomore year in the American system." Comprehension dawned on Adel's features and she sat crossed-legged on her own bed, staring at Evanne in curiosity. "Racist prats? You don't think that we were stupid in that matter because we rejected the comfort and protection the British hand and would have go on giving us?"

"Hell, no." Evanne blasphemed as she dumped her clothing messily into the wardrobe and hung her sweatshirts and jackets up beside Adel's neat stacks of folded garments and pressed pullovers. "Only the people that are citizens of a particular country would be able to rule it well, because they understand it. If we have continued having Malaysia as our colony, I think it'll be ruined to the extent of being unsalvageable. Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just that... My mother is a diplomat, and well, I hear stuff... Let's just say the British government officials that my mother knows aren't feeling that way about us running our own country." Adel grinned ruefully at Evanne as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles of her T-Shirt.

"Sod them, then. After all, it's none of their business." Evanne rolled her eyes and added forcefully while shoving her now-empty duffel bag under her bed. Adel laughed slightly and continued to gaze at her in interest. "You feel really strongly about this kind of thing, don't you?"

To which Evanne replied, her voice muffled as her head was currently under her bed, "Not really strongly... I'm just speaking the truth, that's all."

Adel's expression grew a touch warmer at Evanne's staunch defence of her country, and tilting her head to one side, she peered under the bed at Evanne as she asked, giggling dreamily, "Say, who was your escort? Mine was Missing's Rob Wlikins. He is so tall... And—and sexy, with his leather jacket, motorcycle and the way he spoke my last name; I almost melted! God, he almost made me forget about my crush on Mediator's Paul."

"Well..." Evanne started, crawling backwards from under the bed and looking up to grin sheepishly at Adel. "I don't know how you'll take it, seeing how you're obviously a Paul fan, but... my escort was Paul."

Adel just gaped at her.

Evanne's sheepish grin widened, and she sat down on her bed to await Adel's reaction. She didn't have to wait too long for it, actually.

"Oh, my... _God_." Adel breathed, finding her voice at last. She blinked rapidly, as though she could hardly believe, and went in a strangled voice, "You got escorted by Paul? _Paul_? Paul _Slater_? Oh... My... God. I _can't_ believe it. What does he... What does he _look_ like?"

Evanne scratched her head. "He looks exactly like how Meg described him in the books; tall, tanned, blue eyes... And he was dressed in khakis and a black polo T-Shirt when he came to get me."

"You are so _lucky_!" Adel was practically writhing with envy. Grinning, she shot off her bed and grabbed Evanne's arm. "C'mon, I'll introduce you to my friends; they're all in the cafeteria. You're the only one of us that got escorted by a Mediator character! The rest of us had Princess Diaries, Missing and All American Girl ones. _No_ fair!"

A matching grin blossomed on Evanne's face, as she was tugged out of the room that she would be living in for at least a year by her very first friend in the Cabot Academy of Prose and Fiction.

* * *

"There they are," Adel said excitedly, pulling Evanne over to a table where two Caucasians girls, a Hispanic girl and a Caucasian guy were sitting. Plopping down beside them, Adel tugged Evanne down onto the empty place next to her and announced to the table in general, "Guys, this is Evanne. She's my roommate. Evanne, these loony androids masquerading as people are Hayley, Lauren, Alex and James."

Evanne smiled nervously at the boisterous lot, who were currently introducing themselves to her very loudly and simultaneously:

"Hey, Evanne! How're ya doin'? (pops bubble gum) I'm Hayley, from Texas, America. (pops gum again) Where're you from?" This was from Hayley, a rather gorgeous blonde –Evanne could see her roots peeking out from under a shade of shoulder-length wavy, red hair that was obviously dyed—with a lovely smile and a Texan drawl. And a piece of gum in her mouth.

"Evanneeeeeeeee! Okay, bugga boo, tell me, is it _Jesse or Paul for you?_ If you say Paul, _I'll kill you,_ understand? Don't worry, I'll make it painless. And can I call you Evie? _Huh_? _Pretty pleaseeee_?" Lauren, a sweet-faced girl with her long, light brown hair pulled back messily into a ponytail, shrieked into her ear and squeezed Evanne until she saw black spots dancing in her vision.

"Hello, Evanne! I'm Alejandra... But you can call me Alex, Clavie or Claves, if you want. I'm not really particular with my name," Alex, or rather, Claves(ie) grinned at her, a hint of Spanish accent evident in her voice. She extended her hand to Evanne, but withdrew it again, raising both eyebrows at the interlocked limbs of Lauren and Evanne in amusement.

"Laursie, stop it. You're strangling the poor girl," The only guy sitting at the table laughed, his brown eyes twinkling at the two girls. Catching Evanne's gaze, he waved merrily and smiled, "Hey, I'm James. Ignore them, they're just... a little (and here he twirled his fingers in a circle beside his head) in their heads."

"Um," Evanne croaked when Lauren finally deigned to release her. Straightening, she smoothed her wrinkled black T-shirt and jeans –which she had worn to dinner yesterday, and had forgotten to change out of them in all the excitement, "Hello to you too."

"You're a Brit, right?" Hayley cracked her gum again and grinned genially at Evanne. Turning towards the others, her grin morphed into a smirk and: "Betcha that Eleanor's gonna have a fit. One of her coveted Anglo treasures's now _our_ friend."

Evanne was slightly touched that Hayley referred to her as a friend within five minutes of their meeting, but she was also slightly baffled by Hayley's smirk and her statement, not to mention the others' answering snickers. "Er, if you don't mind my asking, but... Who's Eleanor? And what do you mean by 'coveted Anglo treasure'?"

James took it upon himself to explain. "Y'see, once upon a time, there lived a little girl named Eleanor. Enraged that both her Daddy dearest and ickle Mummy were both American, and not born of a country where princes smoke pot, she grew up in life with only one goal... To surround herself with as much British influence as possible. Once she gets any hint of the fact that you're from the UK, she will go into hunting mode and wear you down until your head is mounted on a plaque in her living room. But unluckily for her, we got to you first."

Evanne blinked. "So... You mean that she's just like bloody Voldermort, then."

Alex beamed at her. "Well, basically, yes, it can be compared to being a half-blood and preferring pure-blooded company while renouncing the rest. Except that Eleanor is a lot bitchier. "

Evanne frowned in puzzlement as another thought occurred to her. "But... this is the first day for everyone, isn't it? So... how would you know so much about this Eleanor then?"

Twirling her hair between fingers, Lauren spoke up in slightly calmer tones compared to what she had used to greet Evanne with. "It's my second year here, actually, but it's the first for the rest of them. The Heads said that I need to cut down on my exclamation marks, but who talks in fullstops all the time in real life, huh? Anyway, we -unfortunately- knew Eleanor through the MCBC and FFN."

"The Meg Cabot Book Club and FanFiction. Net," Adel clarified at Evanne's perplexed expression. "Mainly through MCBC, actually. Eleanor doesn't really agree with our... views."

"That's an understatement, and you know it." Hayley snorted in derision and cracked her gum again. "She hates us because we, according to her, are "sick and perverse" enough to befriend a gay guy, a.k.a. James. If you ask me, she's the sick one, with all her ideas about people being better because of the place they come from. But enough of that. Evanne, just take our word for it when we say that you're way better off without her."

"Um, thanks for the tip." Evanne grinned awkwardly, unsure of just how should she replied to the information that was just told to her in such a matter-of-fact tone. Luckily, she was saved by Adel, who blurted out, unable to keep it to herself any longer, "Did I tell you who Evanne's escort is? It's Paul, of all characters!"

The mood of the group lightened considerably as Hayley and James both assumed Tell-All-Or-ELSE expressions, while Lauren made a gagging sound, and Alex merely sighed and muttered, "Here we go again."

"_Well_?" James demanded urgently. "What was he like? Is he _hot_?"

"James! Stop drooling, you'll scare the poor girl," Hayley nudged him and turned to Evanne eagerly. "Ignore him. He's a lust machine. But anyway, _what does he look like_?"

Grinning, Evanne prolonged their torture by drawling, "We-ell... he's... Hmm, how should I say it? He's... Well, he's..."

"Spit it out, woman!" James groaned, propping his chin up with his hand, and motioned for Evanne to hurry with the other.

"He looked... Exactly like how Meg described him in Darkest Hour and Haunted." Evanne grinned at the wretched looks on their faces.

Hayley collapsed against James as she sighed dramatically. "Omigawd... You're so lucky, Evanne. Gawd, I'd do anything, _anything_ just to see Paul...I'd even gouge out my left eyeball to see him, in a bid that would let me see him with my right. I'd stare into those beautiful, gorgeous, unbelievably blue eyes until I become blind; my poor, poor heart sings a symphony every single time his name is to be mentioned... Its beat quickens at his very presence! Gah. I love him so..."

Lauren wrinkled her nose at Hayley as she mocked light-heartedly, "Hayley, you can't _sing_ a symphony. It's a piece of music, played usually by an orchestra!"

"Whatever," The girl in question waved her hand dismissively, her head against James' shoulder. "A ballad, then. Or a rap. Hymn. Mantra. Whatever. As long as it can be sung, my heart will be happy to sing it. Oh, Paulie, Paulie, wherefore art thou? My life has no meaning without _yoooouuu_..."

Alex mused to no one in particular, "Can a rap be sung? Or should be considered as 'shouted' or 'chanted'? Ah, semantics. Will unrequited love conquer all? Do tune in to the next episode of "Hayley's Insane Ramblings: Living for Paul Slater."

"Ignore them, Evie –I can call you Evie, right? Anyway, they're always like this when it comes to Paul... Hayley's madly in love with him, James lusts after him, Lauren hates him because she's a Jesse-supporter and Alex's indifferent because she thinks he's selfish." Adel rolled her eyes in laughing exasperation as she explained to Evanne over Hayley's tortured moans, Alex's musings, Lauren's continued gagging and James' resigned sighs. Raising her voice, she asked the others, "Hey, you guys, where _did_ Stella, Cassy and Sarah go off to, anyway?"

Alex broke off her reflections to reply absently, "Meeting their roommates, I think."

"Who are they?" Evanne asked Adel curiously, scanning the cafeteria vaguely. It was eight in the morning, and the cafeteria was filling up rapidly. Students of all nationalities and generally of teenage age were either standing around or sitting in groups at tables, chatting. None of the characters –or teachers; Evanne supposed she should start calling them that— had shown up yet.

Adel brushed back another dark brown curl that had fallen over her eyes again and answered, "Oh, they're the last of our group. I'll introduce you later when they arrive with their roommates. You're gonna love them, they're a few screws short as well."

Evanne grinned back at her. "I'm sure I will."

* * *

**A/N: We-ell, what are you still doing here? GO REVIEW, FOR PETE'S SAKE! SHOO! Go on, my little wickle ickle _precioussssssssssss_...**


	3. Curiouser and Curiouser

**

* * *

**

A/N:

**First of all: A big sorry to my readers for having delay updating for so long.**

**Anyway. Some idiot tattletale caused Heaven to be deleted. But... let's just hope third time's the charm, hmm, Escape peeps?**

**Whatever.**

**Note for the special Someone: I hate you. This is the 5th draft of Chapter 3, do you know that? It was because of your antics that made me lose my inspiration, among other things. For that, I hate you. Why are you such a busybody? Mind your own business, really. Or are you so desperate to get into Her Good Books? Pathetic. **

**Anyway, dear, this is from Ad, Cl, St, Ca, La, Sa, Br, Ja and others. As an early special Yuletide present to you, we've decided... to give Eleanor hell in CA.**

**This is why I love writing so much. You have absolute power over your characters.**

**Note to Meg: I need your email for something, dear... Remember to give it ter me when ye review. 

* * *

**

CABOT ACADEMY

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The ice was broken between Evanne and her new friends when Adel revealed the fact that her roommate's escort had been Paul Slater, and pretty soon, all of them were chatting like old friends. At the moment, they were musing over the various modes of transport used by their respective escorts.

"Paul. Dematerialisation," Evanne offered.

Hayley just slumped on Alex instead of James, and sighed despondently, "Stupid David and his stupid limousine and stupid Air Force One. All I want is _Paul_. Only _Paul_. Is that too much to ask, hmm? One currently twenty-year-old, previously fictional, male shifter hottie. I ask ya'll, how hard is it to deliver _one male shifter_? _One_. Huh?"

Alex patted Hayley's head absently as she examined her nails carelessly, and then pulled a thick-looking romance novel –Evanne could see that it was Historical— seemingly from thin air; flipping to the middle of the book and started reading. "David Ackerman, and some weird-looking spaceship he told me he invented. I always get the little kiddies that I can absolutely not have any future with. Though... I'm pretty sure he'll grow up into a nerdy little hottie. He has _nice_ eyes."

Lauren fidgeted in her chair impatiently as she gazed around the cafeteria, pretending to stick a finger down her throat to mime vomiting. "Brad Ackerman and a car plastered with posters that feminists over the world would considered very offensive. And no comments, please. I'll really like it if y'all allow me to forget the whole thing; it gave me quite a few mental scars, ick. Anyway, where d'you s'ppose Stella and the others are? They've been gone for a really long time."

James drummed his fingers against the hard varnished wood of the table and wrinkled his brows, pointing out, "At least you guys had normal, male characters as escort. I got Lilly Moscovitz, of all people. Can you imagine the torture I went through? She kept muttering about quarks, Contact Processes and God-Knows-What the entire time from my dorms at school all the way to _here_."

"Poor James. I had Rob from _Missing_, and he was just so _cool_. God, the way he pronounced my last name... And that motorcycle of his! It was _awesome_," Adel giggled dreamily as both Hayley and James threw her sour looks. Lauren merely rolled her eyes and bounced impatiently in her seat, her gaze flicking about the cafeteria. While Alex... well, Alex looked both bored and amused –though Evanne had to wonder if it was even possible— at the same time.

"You know, all of your reactions reflects the fact that humans always feel that 'the grass is always greener on the other side'. Well, besides, Adel's answer, of course, but we all know that dear Adelyna's really a humanoid alien in disguise, so she's not counted." The girl in question combed her fingers through her hair and said contemplatively; drawing chuckles and nods from the others and an offended "Hey!" from the topic of her statement.

Adel sniffed and opened her mouth, no doubt to rebut, but an excited yell from Lauren startled her as the later jumped up and started waving her arms like a pair of windmills... Or perhaps, a better comparison would to liken her to the air control technicians one always see in airports. "Hey! Over he-_ere_! Hey, you three! We're over _here_!"

"Laursie, stop that. You're acting like you're stranded on deserted island. Whoever are you waving to, anyway? I can't see anyone who know through this throng," James complained, rolling his eyes dramatically at her. Lauren, however, ignored him, flapping her arms until a little group of girls –five, actually— headed over to their table. Evanne stared in curiosity; she couldn't help it. Of the five, three girls were of normal height, with cute, lovely features, whereas the other two... Well, one of them was cute and pixie-looking; the only thing that was slightly abnormal about her was that she sported a cap of chin-length purple hair. As for the other— the only way to describe her was to say that she looked like a model. It was like looking at the cover of _Vanity Fair_. In person.

"Hayley! Oh, my God, d'you know which room they reassigned me to, after that fiasco in the boys' dorm? _Do you_?" One of them, a pretty Hispanic with wild-looking, curly hair beamed at Hayley. Without pausing to allow Hayley to respond, she answered her own question by shrieking, "_Yours_!"

The look of relief, mingled with excitement look almost comical on Hayley's face. Even her gum was temporarily forgotten as her jaw gaped open, and she stared dumbly at the other girl. But the spell of silence didn't last long. Grabbing the latter's hand, Hayley pulled her down, crowing, "Omigawd, Cassy, _really_? Oh, God, this is awesome!"

"I _know_! We're so _lucky_!"

Adel rolled her eyes slightly at the extreme display of feminine glee and turned to Evanne. "Evie, the loony that is currently squashing Hayley is Cassy, another Paul fanatic. She's a female version of James;. you should see the two of them in action together. It's Attack of the Lust Machines crossed with Hunting Techniques of the Tyrannosarus Rex."

Waving to the other new arrivals, she continued, "Ladies, this is my roommate, Evanne. Evie, this is Stella—she's the most multi-linguistic Korean I've ever had the honour of knowing; and this is Sarah... don't let her _kawaii_ façade fool you, she may look like a twelve-year-old, but she's actually sixteen."

"It's a pleasure," Evanne grinned at the two, who offered her friendly smiles and nods as greeting. Unable to contain her curiosity, she nudged Adel and inclined her head discreetly towards the remaining two girls, who were standing off the side kind of awkwardly until they were tugged down onto the chairs by Sarah and Stella respectively, "Who're they?"

Adel never got the chance to answer her, because Alex –whom Evanne was rapidly recognising as the unofficial leader of the group; perhaps it was because she was the eldest, at nineteen (they had compared their ages earlier, and found that Alex and James were the adults in their group, what with James being only a few months younger than the former)— sighed in resignation and pulled Hayley and Cassy apart, and murmured, "Sarah and Stella have brought their roommates along, ladies."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Sorry." Cassy tilted her head and sent a slightly abashed grin at the newcomers' direction.

It was Stella who made the introductions. "Guys, this is my roommate, Jess, (And here she slipped an arm around The Model), and that's Meg. She's Sarah's roommate. We met up by accident on the way back to the cafeteria."

A chorus of "Hey"s, "Hi, there"s and "How ya doin'"s immediately sounded from everyone at the table, while Jess and Meg wore affable, if a little overwhelmed –by the warm reception— grins as the friendship-bonding began all over again.

* * *

"We have another Southern belle!" Lauren, Hayley and Cassy shrieked together and burst into maniacal laughter, as Jess revealed her Alabama roots with her "y'all"s and "somethin'"s. Highfiving each other, they started singing an extremely loud –not to mention _slightly_ off-key— rendition of the Black-eyed Peas'_ My Humps_. 

But the others at the table paid them no heed, because Adel, Stella and Sarah were listening raptly to James regaling about his gorgeous Russian roommate ("God, those _abs_! They are so defined that a dictionary can hardly make them any clearer. And the funny thing is, he either thinks I'm straight, or he isn't a homophobe, because he strips in the room before going to shower!"), drawing "Oh, my God, he didn't!"s and delighted shrieks from the three girls.

As for Evanne, Meg and Alex, they were involved in a heated discussion—or rather, a bashing session about Bush. The comments went like this:

"Gawd, the only good thing he did was to be ridiculous enough for us to laugh at. What good ever came of his political decisions, huh? He shoulda become a... _clown_ or something."

"Haha! Oh, yes, I do agree with you. For an amateur, he is rather good at stand-up comedy. You must admit, the politicians nowadays... Lord, our Blair is almost, if not _worse_ than Bush."

"He's a _hijo de puta,_ is what he is. Look at how he fcked Iraq over. The _puto_ better not touch Mexico, I tell you, else there'll really be hell to pay."

Meg snorted and shook her head, the purple highlights in her hair glinting under the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. "What an asshole. Oh, wait, I forgot. Another good thing is that he'll be leaving in 2008."

Cue derisive laughter from all three, as they rocked back and forth in mirth, when tea –which she made with the help of a teabag and a cup of hot water from the vending machine- sprayed accidentally from Evanne's nostrils as a result of a snort. Blushing, she dabbed at the stain on her T-shirt, while the other two continued howling in laughter.

"It isn't funny! Not a'tall!" Evanne protested, faking a slightly injured air. Meg and Alex simply laughed harder, as the former gasped, "Oh, my God, Alex, I think I can safely say that we're really lucky not to be British."

"H-how so?" Alex hiccupped, holding on her sides and leaning on the smaller girl. Evanne simply continued her mock-glaring at them.

"B-because if we w-were," Meg clutched her stomach as she doubled over and pointed at the cup of tea –which was now slightly tepid- that Evanne was nursing, "We would be so addicted to t-tea that we wouldn't h-have been able to d-do anything without holding a cup of i-it in our hands! I-it's a c-_conspiracy_!"

Evanne merely sniffed and continued sipping at her Earl Grey.

Alex looked like she was going to say something else, but a sudden hush over the whole cafeteria halted all conversation at their table. Turning, Evanne saw that the attention of everyone in the cafeteria was focus on a podium in the centre—Wait a minute, there wasn't a podium there a minute ago!

Evanne shook her head and rubbed her eyes, but the podium still remained. Strange! But perhaps this was how things worked... well, in the Cabot Academy of Prose and Fiction. _Curiouser and curiouser_, as Alice from_ Alice in Wonderland _would say.

A short—no, opulent, wait, that's not the correct adjective either... Evanne frowned as she stared at the little, round lump (really, that was the most literal description she could think of) of a man –his gender was only discernable from the large, sweeping moustache on his face, otherwise, he simply looked like a flesh-colour ball- as he climbed with some difficulty to the podium, which was slightly raised off the ground, courtesy of a dais.

The man rapped the microphone placed onto of the podium, sending high-pitched signals from the speakers situated near the ceiling, and almost all in the cafeteria clapped their hands to their ears in agony. He leaned towards the microphone and, "Testing. Test, test, testing. Can everyone of you hear me? Test. Testing."

"Stop it already, ya ol' freak! Ya tryin' burst our eardrum, ain't it?" Some guy shouted from another table, and snickers erupted from over the cafeteria. However, the little lump of a man ignored the mutterings of the crowd, and pulling two things out inside his coat—a pince-nez and a stack of thick-looking paper. Unfolding the pince-nez, the little man settled it onto the bridge of his nose and held up the stack of the paper in his bloated-looking hand, letting it unfold and unfold and unfold...

Until it dangled perhaps an _inch_ from the floor.

A buzz of whisperings swept over the cafeteria again; no doubt everyone was speculating on just what the contents of the paper were, to render such a long length of it to be needed. The little man cleared his throat right into the microphone and intoned in a nasal voice, "Good morning to all of you, my dears. I am Mr. Indiana Bloomington, the Assistant Headmaster of the Cabot Academy of Prose and Fiction. And I am also here to inform you of the rules and regulations of our esteemed institution."

James whispered mockingly to their table in general, rousing sniggers from all of them when he said, "Betcha this guy has watched all the old Indiana Jones movies."

Mr. Bloomington continued, seemingly oblivious to the reaction of the "students" towards his full name. "We, of course, welcome you and hope that you will have, at the very least, a fruitful year here. Now, as you can see, the lady currently standing by the cafeteria doors is your Assistant Headmistress, Ms. Janet Leung."

Almost every head in the cafeteria swivelled towards the closed doors, in front of which a petite Asian woman was standing. However, she was too far away in the distance for Evanne to really discern her features. Mr. Bloomington cleared his throat again with a phlegmy "Ahem!", which returned everyone's attention to him again.

"As I was saying, welcome. One important thing you should know, is that there is no such thing as 'grades', 'forms' or 'years' in this institution. Age does not give you superiority here.. Your level of competence in a subject determines whether or not you need to attend the class. So I hope to see no such incidents where the elder students –and by right, the more mature ones- bully the younger ones. Is that clear?"

Nodding approvingly at a low murmur of assent from the students, Mr. Bloomington cleared his throat forcefully before continuing, "Now, first of all, the Staff Rooms are forbidden to all students. Any student found sneaking into the Staff Rooms will be subject to a 6 foot essay; topic is for Professor David Ackerman and the Professors Moscovitz (and here a collective groan sounded from the students) to decide. Other than that, however, all other rooms in the Academy are accessible by all."

"You are also encouraged to take up extra-curricular activities, though not more than two per person. For those who take _two_ extra-curricular activities, you are advised to take one that stimulates you intellectually, and the other, physically. However, the extra-curricular activites are _not_ to be used as excuses to miss classes."

"Now... moving ontowards the matter of appropriate attire. Although uniforms are not needed, and informal attire is permitted, please take note that scanty clothing is alas, forbidden. That is to say, neither mini-skirts or dresses, shorts that end at the top of the thighs, nor tube tops are allowed. Offenders will be punished by receiving a five-day detention with Professor Clarisse Renaldo as overseer."

"Moving onto the subject of dormitories: the dorms from Floor 1 to Floor 6 are female dorms, and those on Floor 7 onwards, male. Visiting hours for the female dorm will be from 9 in the morning to six in the evening. For the male dorm, it is to be 9 in the morning to 10 in the evening—"

"No fair!" Hayley hissed softly at James, scowling discreetlyin the direction ofthe Assistant Headmaster. "Why is it that you _boys_ get _longer_ visiting hours than _us_?"

James merely grinned cheekily as a reply.

"— I trust that all of you here will be honourable enough to uphold this rule. This rule is one of the most important in our Academy, indeed. Breaking of this rule once will earn you a month's worth of detention, which will be oversee by Professor Renaldo, the Father Dominic and the Monsignor Constantine. Breaking of this rule twice and more... well, we won't talk of the consequences now, but I assure you that they are certainly dire."

"Fan clubs, 'harems' and 'wives clubs' are also prohibited here in the Cabot Academy. This rule was specially requested by your professors, for it intrudes into their privacy. Culprits responsible for stealing of their belongings, love potion attempts and so on, when once caught, will also be given a month's worth of detention on the first attempt. Again, we will discuss the penalties for these offences only when the occasion arises, however, again, I must ask you not to take my warning lightly."

"Last of all, we have come to the issue of your classes. Please note that missing of classes is not to be tolerated, unless accompanied with the excuse of a severe ailment etc. The missing of a class will bring about a day's worth of detention, the missing of two will bring about two days' worth and so on and so forth."

Mr. Bloomington looked up from the notes at last, pushing up his pince-nez –which had slid down his bumpy nose— and frowning at the students. "Any questions?"

He seemed not to have notice—or perhaps, refused to notice that the majority of the teenagers and young adults in the cafeteria appear to be either staring off in space, inspecting their nails or slumped onto the tables with eyes closed and mouth drooling.

"Well?" He asked again, his already nasal voice raising another notch _and_ pitch. "Students, do you have any questions?"

A classical-looking, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl sitting a few tables away from Evanne's raised her hand. Evanne noticed that the rest of her companions, with the exception of Jess and Meg, had frowns and sneers on their faces. Even Stella, whom Evanne had pegged as mild-tempered, had an uncharacteristically ugly look on her face.

Adel leaned towards Evanne and murmured, "No need to wonder who that is; she's the infamous Eleanor that you've been hearing stories from us about."

Evanne blinked. She had expected Eleanor to be an ugly-looking, cruel, sardonic... well, _bitch_. This angelic-looking creature was the complete opposite of what she had in mind.

Eleanor stood up and did a pretty little bow, causing the admiring little smile on the Assistant Headmaster's face to widen a little more. "Mr. Bloomington..."

Even her voice was pretty, tinkling, like the tunes that musical boxes, when winded up, would play. Evanne started to doubt what Hayley and the others had told her earlier. _Could_ someone who looked so beautiful and angelic really be _that_ ugly on the inside? Or where were the tales of her venomous doings spun out of sheer jealousy?

But Evanne quickly discovered that Eleanor wasn't as innocent as she looked.

"Mr Bloomington," Eleanor sang again, "What about teacher-pupil relationships? Are they allowed, seeing how our, well, _teachers_ are barely older than us? I mean, it is there's nothing wrong for a...say, twenty-year-old professor to get together with an eighteen-year-old student, no?"

A wave of disbelief swept the cafeteria, and the little smile on the Assistant Headmaster's face froze. Adel and the others snorted, while Lauren started to clap, a smirk looking utterly foreign on her face. Alex shook her head slightly and muttered under her breath, "Trust Eleanor to choose such a _lovely_ layer of icing on a cake. Asking such a question, indeed. Doesn't she know that the staff have their own _canon_ pairings?"

Mr. Bloomington cleared his throat repeatedly and attempted valiantly to recover his composure, while Eleanor waited patiently, a sweet smile on her face. Looking over at the cafeteria doors, Evanne could see that the Assistant Headmistress had a hand over her eyes.

"I—ah, that is, we never.. I mean, ah..." Mr Bloomington stuttered and forced himself to continue. "My dear girl, we ah, of course, ah... Disapprove of staff-student relationships. Regardless of ah, how _old_ you may be, I'm afraid that we, er... That is to say, we do not approve. Of staff-student relationships, I mean."

"But why?" Eleanor countered gracefully. Mr. Bloomington swiped a hand across his forehead as he stammered, "There is no, er, why to it. We just—We just disapprove. That is all. Yes. That is _all_."

Eleanor opened her mouth to counter-argue, perhaps, but Mr. Bloomington raised a hand towards her, forcing her to clamp her mouth shut and sink down into her chair sulkily, albeit with some elegance, nevertheless. Looking rattled, The Assistant Headmaster blinked rapidly and fished a handkerchief out from inside his coat. "An-Any other questions?"

Without pausing for any student to ask any of the said questions, he tucked his handkerchief inside his coat pocket and went briskly, if a little unsteadily, "Very—very well, then. No more questions, heh... Well, Janet will give out the timetables to all of you then. Good day, a very good day, to all of you."

And with that, he stepped off the podium.

And Evanne also learnt that one must really not judge a book –or in this case, a beauty— by its cover.

* * *

**A/N: I just finsished watching King Kong, so— _Grunt grunt wheeze rumble grunt snarl ROARRRRRRR._**

**(The English translation: Review, or I'll bite your arse _off_.)**


	4. Of Faints and Spying

**

* * *

**

A/N:

* * *

**Happy Christmas/Happy Boxing Day, darlings, and here's the 4th chapter!**

**It's unbeta-ed though, because Adel hadn't been up for about two days, but I've already sent the chapter to her, but anyway, I'm posting this version for you guys as my Yuletide present to all of you! Hope you do like it...**

**Oh, and this chapter is um, for the Asian Tsunami 2004 victims. Let's hope that they will stop dwelling upon the past and look towards the future with hope.

* * *

**

CABOT ACADFEMY

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_Schedule of classes for Evanne Remington_

_Monday: The Art of Heroine Making (9am-11am), Bitches 101 (11am-1pm), _Lunch_ (1pm-2pm), The Culture of Ball-Busting (2pm-4pm)._

_Tuesday: Badboy Studies (9am-12pm), _Lunch_ (12pm-1pm), The Art of Hero Making (1pm-3pm)._

_Wednesday: Bimbos 102 (9am-12pm), Villainous Villains (12pm-1pm), _Lunch_ (1pm-2pm), The Culture of Ball-Busting (2pm-3pm)._

_Thursday: The Art of Heroine Making (9am-11am), Badboys Studies (11am-1pm), _Lunch_ (1pm-2pm), Bitches 101 (2pm-4pm)._

_Friday: Villainous Villains (9am-12pm), Badboys Studies (12pm-1pm), _Lunch_ (1pm-2pm), The Art of Hero Making (2pm-4pm)._

_Note: Weekday evenings are class-free unless requested by the professor(s). Saturday and Sundays are used for extra-curricular activities and "rest days" for the students.

* * *

_

It was her second month at the Academy, and yet, Evanne was still losing her way about the school at an alarmingly frequent rate. Thank Goodness that Adel had the same classes with her. At least she wasn't lost _alone_. Currently, though, they were hurrying through the intricate maze of hallways and passages to _try_ –_try_ is the key word- to get to their first class in the morning, _Badboy Studies_.

"Oh, no," Adel panted, brushing an unruly dark brown curl behind her ear impatiently, and remarked with a tinge of anxiety, "Evie, I think we passed this tapestry a while ago."

Evanne groaned and leant against the cool marble wall, her arms aching from carrying her huge stack of notes –she had recorded every word the lecturers had instructed them on their various subjects, in fear of forgetting them in the future- and tilted her face up towards the ceiling, "Ugh. I think you're right... What now?"

Adel shifted _her_ own stack of notes –which was of similar thickness- and dropped her head onto Evanne's shoulder, sighing. "I don't know either. The only thing that I'm certain of is that we're most definitely late for Badboy Studies. It's twenty past nine. Professor Wilkins is going to have a fit for sure. Again."

"Damn." Evanne rested a hand on the white shoulder of a life-size replicate of Michelangelo's _David_ absently and sighed. "Maybe we should—_Jesus_!"

She had rested too much weight onto the sculpture's shoulder and it sank slightly, revealing itself to be a hidden mechanism of some sorts. Both Adel and Evanne gasped in dismay, certain that that latter had ruined the statue. Evanne had barely started tugging upon the plaster limb before the wall they were leaning onto swung inwards, bringing the two girls, as well as twin shrieks of terror into God-knows-where.

The wall swung back again, devoid of all signs of life, and David's shoulder sprangback in place.

* * *

"Oh, my God!" Adel gasped as they fell, flat onto their backs into some room. Evanne rubbed the back of her head and winced, she fancied that she could feel a slight bump there. Staggering onto her feet, she grasped Adel's hand and hauled her up with a hand, the other dusting herself down.. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Adel wheezed and patted herself, checking for injuries. Evanne crouched down and gathered up their notes, turning her head this way and that to make sure she didn't sprain it. Straightening, she starred at Adel's back in surprise. The taller girl had an air of curious stillness about her. "Adel? What is it?"

"Evie?" Odd, Adel's voice sounded... _strange_ to her. It was rather _strangled_ and stilted, as though Adel was well, _reluctant_ to talk. "Evie, um, turn around."

And Evanne turned, frightened that there was a monster behind her or something like what Harry and his friends –why were they popping into her head so frequently this days?- had encountered in the third-floor corridor in their Hogwarts... what was his name? Ah. Yes. _Fluffy_.

But even though what that was behind Evanne and in front of Adel may not be a three-headed dog or some other kind of monster, the reality was not very nice, either. Oh, no. They had fallen in a classroom. And given their luck, well...

Seated and pacing in front of the classroom were the entire Badboy Studies class and their professor respectively, who was surely going to call them by their last names _again_ before giving them a good old-fashioned dressing down about how punctuality was a virtue and—_ Wait a minute._

For the past month, their lecturer had been one surly Professor Rob Wilkins, object of Adel's steadily increasing ardour. But today, the lecturer pacing about the front of the room with his hands behind his back wasn't a young man dressed in biker clothes. Rather, he was clad conservatively in an expensive-looking black turtleneck and blue jeans. In short, it was not Professor Wilkins as their designated teacher today. It was, well, one Professor... Slater.

_Paul_ Slater.

Who was currently looking at them with an amused smirk on his face and a hand in the pocket of his jeans. _Which_, Evanne noted absently,_ looked pretty nice on him. Hmm_. His legs were relatively muscled, no doubt from the tennis that Meg (Cabot, not Meg with the Previously-Purple-And- Now-Green-Hair) was had wrote that he always played.

Evanne blinked and forced her eyes up his face, certain that he must have saw her staring, but _his_ own gaze was focused on Adel. Who looked as though she was hyperventilating, though silently, with only the rapid heaving of her chest as indication.

Silence reigned the classroom, only to be broken by the sound of Adel remarking, rather dazedly, to Evanne, "Is it wrong to ogle a professor's butt if it's so nicely moulded in a pair of Levi's?"

Paul's—_Professor_ Slater's smirk merely widened farther upon hearing that comment.

And Adel, well, Adel fainted away at the glorious sight of it.

* * *

It was lunch time, and Evanne was hungry. In fact, starving, due to the running about the school she and Adel did directly after breakfast to find the errant classroom for Badboy Studies _and_ carrying Adel after she fainted back to their dorm room._ All by herself._

Professor or no, Paul Slater had better watch out now, because Evanne would be waiting for every chance to _get him back_. Couldn't he have thought of a better punishment than making her lug her comatose roommate with _only her two hands_, no stretcher, no _nothing_, back to their dorm room, which was practically on the bloody other side of the bloody school? Hadn't he heard of writing lines before?

Evanne envisioned herself shoving the bleeding sod's head down one of the lavatories and smirked blissfully, cracking her knuckles and flexing her fingers. She would hold his two hands against his back and shove his head down like _this_—

"_Ow_!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Adel!" Evanne removed her hand from her roommate's neck with the utmost haste and blushed. Adel sat up slowly, nursing the slight bump at the back of her head with one hand and her throat with the other, croaking, "Evie, were you— were you trying to kill me?"

"N-_no_! Of course _not_!" Evanne's face turned even redder with embarrassment. How to tell your roommate that you were thinking of murdering her object of fanatical devotion and accidentally administered the actions upon her? "I was just... I was just daydreaming a-about something."

Adel blinked at her, a doubtful expression on her face, but she let it pass with no further questions. Tilting her head and frowning in puzzlement, she asked Evanne, "Why are we in our room, anyway? Weren't we in the Badboy Studies classroom? I remember that Pau—I mean, Professor Slater looked really drool-worthy.".

Evanne rubbed the back of her neck and said gamely, "Well, Adel, we _were_ at the classroom, but... you fainted. So the Professor made me take you back to our room."

The look on Adel's face was priceless.

"W-_what_?" she was practically hyperventilating—again. Flinging aside the covers –which Evanne had drawn slightly over her—she swung her feet onto the tiled floor and stared at Evanne in horror, pushing her dishevelled hair behind her ears frantically. "I _fainted_?"

"Well, yes." Some sadistic devil in Evanne compelled her to add, "In front of Professor Slater. You slammed into him, as a matter of fact."

Adel clapped her hands over her ears and let loose a shriek any banshee would have been proud to claim as her own.

Evanne sat down besides her and slipped an arm around her, patting her shoulder gently. "It's not that bad, really, he caught you—"

"I fainted in front of him... I actually fainted like a stupid, overheated, corset-bound, silly little _debutante_ in front of _him_!" Adel moaned rocking back and forth and ignoring Evanne's pathetic attempts to comfort her. Flinging her arms around the smaller girl, she whimpered into Evanne's shoulder, "I will never, ever be able to look him in the eye again, oh, _no_..."

"But Adel, he actually caught you and steadied you, you know, so really it's not that ba—" Evanne sucked in a breath as Adel's gripped tightened until it nearly bordered on painful. "He _what_?"

Evanne repeated patiently, "He caught you after you pitched forward and—"

Adel muffled the rest of her sentence in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, Evie, _really_?"

Evanne's "Really" was muffled since her face was squished into Adel's shoulder, but the latter seemed to have heard her anyway. "Oh, I'm so happy! Let's go to lunch; I'm _starving_!"

"So am I," Evanne muttered weakly as Adel dragged her from the room. "So am I."

* * *

It was Saturday morning. Dawn, actually, because it was barely 6 in the _morning_. The sun was just a bare glimmer on the horizon, and all was quiet on the field expect for the chirping of crickets and three little figures in the distance.

Saturday was, in Evanne's opinion, a day of semi-rest. A day where humans _right_ in their _heads_ will spend sleeping. Well, for most of the morning, anyway. But the point is, _Saturday_, being the _sister_ of Sunday, was a day of _relaxation_.

However, Evanne wasn't that lucky. Oh, no, far from it. The Divine Poppet Upstairs thought too highly of her; deeming her to be a cut above most mortals and thus not in need of _relaxation_. She was, as of the moment, staggering in between Alex and Lauren, with James drifting not far behind.

"Yew dears," Evanne slurred, head lolling and listing towards Alex in a state of where she was between sleep and reality, "Yer dears, lemme—lemme catch m'breath. I'm t-tired. Lemme sleep. Please, lemme..."

"Nope." Lauren said determinedly, hoisting Evanne's slipping arm high up around her. "We're gonna spy on Jesse if that's the last thing I'm gonna do."

"Woddaz that hafta do with me?" Evanne mumbled, leaning her head onto Alex's shoulder and closing her eyes, groaning softly. "I _don't_ like Jesse a'tall. Just lemme _sleep_..."

Lauren shook her awake. "You are the most neutral Foot-fetish boy lover and Jesse-hater we have in our group; of course it has to do with you. We need people to help us be on the lookout for the other professors! What, d'ya think we'll bring along _Hayley_ or something? She'll castrate Jesse or do something equally drastic the minute _she_ sees him for sure."

"If... y'say so," Evanne grumbled, screwing her eyes up with her yawn. "No' really a Paul fan; jus' feel tha' he's misunderstood, 's all. No' as evil as everyone says...m-merely arrogan' and spoilt, 's all."

Alex snorted and murmured with a hint of disgust, "Paul Slater may not be evil, but he is definitely selfish. You can't say that there's nothing wrong with a seventeen-year-old boy who leaves his own little brother –who was little more than a child then— in an unknown realm with no instructions of how to exit said realm? He may not be kill small animals for his pleasure, but I do think that he really needs a therapist."

"Don't let Hayley hear you say _that_, or _she'll_ castrate _you_." Evanne laughed sleepily at Alex, raising her head a little from the latter's shoulder. Giving another great yawn, she tugged slightly at Alex and Lauren –with whom her arms were entwined— and halted to a stop, twisting her neck for cricks and stretching to the tips of her toes. "All right, all right. I'm _awake_. Really, I am. God. It's _dawn_, you guys... couldn't you have chosen a more godly hour to spy on your darling Mr. Ghostie?"

James sighed resignedly and opened his mouth for the first time since the three of them had dragged Evanne out of her warm, inviting bed— with Adel being dead to the world, oblivious to the fact that her roommate was being dragged away by three wackos, "We _would_ have done _that_, had Little Miss Lauren here not yanked us out of _our_ respective beds –rousing _my_ roommate and his er, _bed-mate_ as well when she was in the process of waking me, screeching that she had heard from a reliable source that our Professor De Silva takes his daily horse ride at dawn."

Lauren shot a glare at him, and rolled her eyes, "Stop making it sound like you don't wanna see him for yourself too! It's wasn't as though you weren't practically jumping for joy when I told you."

James, having not taken _The Art of Hero Making_, a class which Jesse De Silva was co-in-charged with Michael Moscovitz, and All American Girl's David, hadn't seen the former-ghost before, and was eager to rectify that fact. He gave a dramatic sniff now, and walked to the right side of Alex, the left having been taken up by Evanne, for she was still practically lying upon Alex, for all her "I'm awake! Really, I am." proclamations.

Suddenly, Lauren tugged hard on Evanne's left arm, jerking both the British girl and Alex –who had the former's _other_ arm tucked in hers— to a sudden stop. She pointed excitedly at a tiny little figure in the horizon; a figure who was rapidly growing bigger as it was approaching them and cried in a hushed tone, "There he is! Omigawd, behind the trees, _quick_! We'll all be in deep shit if he discovers us!"

So it was behind the trees for them, naturally. And Evanne, who, being British and of a rather well-off family, was_ of course_ educated in the art of riding since a very young age, and had spent many a day racing about in Hyde Park with her friends, and sometimes her parents. But it was only that day she learnt that the only way to snog on horseback without one of the participants falling off –which was understandably undesired- was to have one sit side-saddle in front of the other -preferably sitting astride— and to twist one's head, already facing the side, another ninety degrees to meet the other's lips.

For there was not one, but two people sitting atop the horse. Or rather, to be more specific, one Professor De Silva and one Professor Simon. Who were, er, currently connected in a most intimate way.

_A_ most intimate way, of course, not _the_ most intimate way.

Lauren giggled maniacally (but softly, since she had no desire to be given detention for spying on the faculty); James drooled –well, not really, but he did make his envious reaction known quite verbally, although he did kept his voice down too; Alex gasped and blushed, training her gaze towards the sky, but nevertheless sneaking a peek towards the pair every now and then; as for Evanne... Evanne merely blinked. And leant her head against the particular tree she had chosen to hide behind, closing her eyes to take a little nap.

But sadly, it seemed that former-ghosts-turned-mediators have better hearing than mere mortals do, for neither one of the four of them had spoken in a tone louder than a whisper, and _yet_ it was enough to make Jesse pull his horse up short –startling both the animal and his ball-busting _Querida_— and turned in the directions of the woods, calling, "Who's there?"

Evanne's eyes snapped open, Alex's gaze swung back to earth, and both Lauren and James immediately clamped their mouths shut. The four exchanged glances tinged with horror and embarrassment, and James spread his hands in a helpless gesture of_ What-should-we-do-now? _Alex shook her head slowly at him and pressed a finger to her lips, mouthing _Stay Still_ to the other three.

Obeying her command, they stood there, frozen as though petrified by the eye of Medusa, until the clip-clopping of hooves were heard, growing softer and softer into the distance. Even then, their breathing was controlled, and thousands of scenarios raced through Evanne's mind, playing and replaying what would happen were they caught. Over the past month, the faculty had made their protectiveness towards their privacy very vocal indeed, and students that were caught trying to sneak into the Staff Rooms or committed some other offence which had involved the intruding of the professors' privacy were dealt very harshly with.

Evanne had no intention of writing an essay comparing the pros and cons of the Princess Diana and Camilla Parker-Bowles had towards the British Royal Family respectively, or scrubbing the floor of the cafeteria in the dark with a toothbrush and a bucket of water indeed— which were two of the memorable detentions the faculty had dished out to the students who did not value their teachers' privacy.

A hiss from Lauren broke through her brooding, and Evanne lifted her gaze from the ground to Lauren, who whispered, "Did y'all hear that? The sound of the hooves is completely gone now! I think Jesse and Suze decided that there's nobody here and went off!"

A sigh of relief went around, and the demeanour of all four became noticeably more relaxed, as shoulders slumped and tension eased. Alex gave a half-groan, half-laugh as she shook her head at Lauren, "Laursie, _really_. I'm _never_ gonna join you on another one of your escapades again... It nearly took ten years off my life when I though Jes—I mean, Professor De Silva, had discovered us. I bet he'll tell us to go give Slater a foot massage as punishment or something."

The quartet laughed uproariously at that image—well, Evanne smiled in puzzlement, actually, because she had never figured out how the foot-fetish rumour came about— and continued joking as they strolled back across the field and into the shade of the cafeteria, which opened off into the field on one side. Ambling across it to reach the passageway on the other side, which would then branch off to their dorms, they pulled the double doors that served as entrance and made to exit it, when two figures stepped from outside the cafeteria, and—

"Good morning, Ms. Lauren, Ms. Alejandra, Ms. Evanne, _and_ Mr. James," Professor Susannah Simon said pleasantly, with Professor De Silva glowering silently beside her. "And just where might you four be going, hmm?"

And Evanne knew that, well, to use an American expression that James had taught her the day before, the shit had hit the fan, and left rather spectacular patterns on the fan too, as a parting gift.

* * *

**A/N: Heh, dare I hope that you guys will gimme reviews as a belated Christmas present? -hopeful-**


	5. Slimy Fingers and Yusgov

**

* * *

**

A/N:

**So she updates! -cowers-**

**Hey, dears. School has started, y'know, and ugh, have been busy as hell.**

**So anyway! The fifth chapter. Here it is. _Finally_.**

**But um, before you guys start reading, I want to say— or write— a few words.**

**Lila: **

Thank you for giving me my first flame. As everyone knows, your story isn't well-read until it has been flamed. So thank you, my dear. But sadly, I will not be taking your advice.

**Jesus and Mobster: **

I am disgusted at the two of you. Fancy starting a fight at my reviews page; how _low_. I appreciate the fact that you're trying to increase my reviews (**This is sarcasm, people.**), but please, not this way, okay? This... Elena person and the banning of several MCBC members is something that I do not know and am not familiar with, so please stop antagonizing my reviewers and take your quarrel elsewhere. Oh, and if you really wish to defend your friend Elena from any misunderstanding that she had been accused of, leave your email with either Mush Elena, ok, veela or Adel. Don't be such a coward.

**MUSH ELENA, OK/Jackass, veela: **

Thank you for defending me, dears. Even though, well, I don't know why that Lila started this in the first place. Unless she was really bored.

**Adel: **

I love you too, darling. Yo shizzle, sista! Hahah.

BUT.

YOU LEFT ME TO EDITED THIS CHAPTER MYSELF. HMMPH.

**Anyhow.**

**Hope you darlings will like it! (Please excuse any errors. This chapter is currently unbete-ad.)**

**Note: STRONG LANGUAGE IN THIS CHAPTER. And by that, yes, I mean the F-word. And no, it's not Fluffy.

* * *

**

CABOT ACADEMY

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"Ouch."

"_Ouch_."

"Oh, don't—_Ow! Adel! Please!_"

"I'm so sorry, Evie. I'm trying my best to be as gentle as possible," Adel muttered as she continued rubbing salve onto Evanne's redden, roughed hands. The latter was lying back against her bed, while the former was sitting on the edge, spreading greenish salve with a herbal smell across Evanne's tortured fingers. The abused wee ickle ones had James and his steaming pot of _Potage aux cèpes_ to thank for their present state.

Across them, tangled in the sheets of Adel's bed –although in an _entirely_ platonic way— while laughing their heads off were Cassy and Jess; the latter whom was looking more model-like and dazzling than ever with just a simple pink T-Shirt that said "I Heart Adrien Brody" and plain blue jeans on. Cassy, their resident heartbreaker, was decked out in a white halter top and a denim Levi's skirt. The reason for their mirth was of course, the state of Evanne's hands, as well as what her detention had turned out to be.

Preparing edible breakfast, lunch and dinner for _one whole day_.

That was the detention for Alex, James, Lauren and Evanne. It might not have been such a horrific punishment had they been allowed helpers, even if it was just one or two extra students or the cafeteria staff to lessen the burden _slightly_. But sadly, that was not the case, and the _four_ of them had to prepare three meals for _over a thousand students, not to mention the faculty. _

It was hell. There was the fact that they had to wake at dawn ("Since, the lot of you seemed to love the morning air so, it won't be nice of us to deprive you of it, would it?" Professor Simon had uttered with the Slater trademark smirk on her face), and that they had to _think_ up the menu by _themselves_, with _no_ recurring items in either of the three meals, and also, should they serve, say, a slice, a_ single _slice of burnt toast to a member of the student body or the faculty, they would then have_ to repeat kitchen duty for the next day_!

And to think that Meg (a.k.a. Cabot, not Meg with the Previously-Purple-Then-Green-And- Now-Orange-Hair) had actually wrote Jes— _Professor_ de Silva as a gentleman and Professor Simon as a nice girl in the _Mediator_ series, indeed. Hardly, Evanne grouched silently, staring at her slathered fingers in acute misery. Actually, they had two choices for detention; A) To wash the collective feet of the faculty, or B) To serve as cooks for the entire school for a day.

_A) would_ have been easier, and they were on the verge of agreeing to do that particular task when James got it into his mind to clarify with the two task-setters if the phrase "the faculty" meant all of the school's staff, or merely the teaching professors. Upon hearing that the answer would be the former, Alex immediately declared in a pitch so high that Evanne half-feared that the windows may just give in and crack; that no absolutely (insert Spanish swear word here) was she going near to Pau— _Professor _Slater's feet with a foot-long pole, much less wash it.

Evanne didn't have the heart to tell her that she would have to wash his feet anyhow, because Professor Slater was both a member of the faculty and the teaching staff.

So B) it was, and calling it hell would be the understatement of the millennia, as none of them knew how to cook gourmet cuisine, which was unfortunately the standard of the food over at Cabot Academy (one of the finer points of the school). However, attempting to level up to the cafeteria cooks' –yes, cooks, in the plural form— had resulted in, well, disaster. Aside from the incident with Evanne's fingers and James' tureen of poshly named mushroom soup, Lauren had managed to slice off a chunk of her hair with the butcher knife (she had been bending too far over the beef while cutting it and had forgotten to tie her hair up), and Alex had, somehow or rather, gotten her hair singed by the oven.

Only James had managed to unscathed, much to the disgruntlement of the three girls.

Which brought them back to Evanne's currently state of misery, as she sat scowling at the current two occupants of Adel's bed, and her roommate herself. They were still laughing, Cassy and Jess were. And even Adel, a sympathetic soul there was ever one; even Adel had a tiny grin on her lips. Evanne's scowl grew blacker.

"Oh, c'mon, Evie!" Cassy half-gasped, half-cried as she slammed her head against Adel's pillows in a failed effort to control her laughter, "You gotta admit –_Hahahahahah_!— that it does sound funny! I mean, Gawd. _Heheheheh_. I mean, seriously, the image of James, and you, and—"

"Yes, I get your meaning," Evanne said sourly as she eyed her hands wretchedly. They looked as though they had been covered with slime. Thick, green, clotting slime. She flipped her right hand over, palm facing down. One of the lumps on her index finger was inching slowly towards her tip. She'll burn in hell before she'd allow these... blobs to contaminate her pristine, neatly made bed.

Just imagine. The Attack of the Blobs. Chomping and ingesting the school, inch by inch—

"Oh, no!" Adel's face appeared beside the half-opened door of their bathroom, wearing a most distressed expression. "Evie, I can't find the box of bandages you brought anywhere!"

"_What_? Are you _serious_?" Evanne stared at Adel in horror and flicked her gaze back to her green, lumpy hands. "Oh, _no_. What are—What are we going to do? I am abso-_bloody_-lutely not sleeping with this covering my fingers."

Jess and Cassy stopped laughing –yes, well, _finally_— upon hearing this and sat up together, legs still tangled, arms around each other. Personally, Evanne mused inside her head, she thought that the two of them looked as though they had just finished a quick tumble. Why, if she hadn't known that both girls were, well, _straight_, she would say...

Hmmm. So many possibilities.

Jess' voice cut through her thoughts as the latter snorted at her, her voice husky with laughter. "Of course you aren't, silly! Our rooms don't even have a piece of Band-Aid each, but... I know, I'll help you call Alex and Meg's rooms to ask them if they have any bandages over there."

"Hey, Lauren, I was just wondering –Whoa, it sure is real _noisy_ over there! Oh, a party. Well, happy partying to you. But, yeah, anyway, D'you have any bandages over there? Y'know—no, not plaster! No, no... nothing like that. Just those gauze-like, white—Oh... none at all? Ah, yeah, thanks so much... Mmm hmm. Mmm. Okay! Yeah, bye! "

Adel moved the rest of her body out of the bathroom to join her face. "So Lauren and Alex don't have any bandages in her room?"

"Nope... At least, I don't think so. She's more than three sheets in the wind, though... Maybe she didn't even know what I wanted. But even if we go over to confirm if they have any bandages at all, I doubt we'll be able to search for them. She has a party going on there right now, and I heard Alex beside her, and it sounds like even _she's_ pretty sloshed too." Jess replaced the phone back into its cradle and tugged a curl of golden hair that had escaped from the confines of her ponytail.

Cassy propped her head up with her hand. "Try Sarah and Meg's room, then."

Picking up the phone again, Jess' finger hovered over the numbers. "What's their number?"

"0900-2876-0668. I think." Cassy rattled off, flinging her arms over her head while staring up at the ceiling.

"'Kay," Jess murmured, punching in the respective numbers.

"Ah, Sarah? This is Jess, Hmm? Oh, naw, I've over at Adel's and Evie's room. Say, do you have any bandages over there? Oh, okay. Ask Meg to take her time. Hmm. Oh, she says none? Oh... okay, thanks, anyway? Oh, no, it's for Evie; y'know, her detention today... Yeah. 'Kay, bye!"

Jess hung up and turned to the others. "Nope, they don't have any over there too."

The four of them stared at each other, not knowing what to do about Evanne's predicament. None of the girls had bandages in their rooms. And Evanne could not possibly sleep with her hands stretched out in front of her like an Old World imperial Chinese vampire.

So what now?

Cassy spoke up after a pregnant period of silence, running her hand through her curly hair and snapping her fingers. "I know! Let's pop over to James' room, we haven't tried him yet. _Maybe_ he has some bandages with him."

"Can't we just call him?" Evanne sulked, wrinkling her nose at the heap of green goo which were her fingers. Cassy rolled her eyes at the British girl as she stretched and got up from the bed.

"And just how, sweetie, are we going to call him if we don't have his number?"

"Oh. Yeah. That. I, er...forgot." Evanne brought her hand up in a reflexive action as she attempted to scratch her temple in embarrassment, only to pause with her finger halfway to her head as she recalled the reason to just why having her fingers on any other part of her body besides, well, themselves, would be a _really_ bad idea.

"Well, if we want to head over to James' room, we have to go now, you know. It's currently twenty-minutes to ten," Adel pointed out while shrugging on her pullover. She had taken to the habit of wearing an extra layer whenever they stepped out of their dorm room, because to quote her, her "tropical-climate-inclined body was going to freeze in the chilly autumn air".

And it was with that the four of them started towards James' room, with three out of four walking along normally, while the fourth skulked behind, struggling with the effort not to stuff her hands into her pants' pockets to hide them or chopping them off once and for all, handicap and the inability to write again be damned.

* * *

They arrived in front of James' room on the seventh floor at a record-breaking five minutes. Evanne and Adel were both panting, even Jess was looking a little flushed, but Cassy remained as poised as ever. 

The three of them stared accusingly at Cassy, who had set the speed from them by racing them from Adel and Evanne's room, down the hall, left into the sixth floor common room, out via one of the many doors leading to the room into a corridor, right into the elevator, up to the seventh floor, left into the seventh floor common room, out through one of the many doors, right into the hall and straight down the hall to James' room at the very end.

Yeah.

"Why," Adel demanded in between pants, a hand over her flushed cheeks, and the other clutching her stomach, "aren't you out of breath at all?"

Cassy tossed her hair back and said something about tennis and exercise in return, but Evanne was too busy banging at James' door as though her life depended on it to concentrate on what it was. _Knock. Knock knock. KNOCK. Bang bang. Bang bang bang. Bang. BANG BANG_—

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

"What the _fuck _is your problem, Platten? I thought I told you to fuck—" The door whipped open with such force that it banged against the wall and rebounded back onto the masculine palm that had shoved it ajar in the first place. The first expression that came to Evanne's mind when she saw Stefan Yusgov, James' Russian roommate for the first time was_ "A mortal Adonis come to life"_.

Cassy made a funny little gasp and went into predator mode; Jess managed to look both neutral _and_ politely amused at the same time (although Evanne did catch a quick flicker of her eyes towards the abdominal region of the gorgeous male specimen's body), and Adel's face was so red that Evanne felt amazed that her facial arteries had not burst. _Yet_.

It seemed like she was the only X-X chromosome owner who was unaffected by the supreme model of physical attractive-ness in front of them. Or rather, she was affected, but not in the way _they_ were; she was very, very, very annoyed with this... young man for blocking the only entrance to his, and James' room, thereby halting her search for clean bandages.

The reason that her friends had turned into twittering half-wits was not solely to the handsome _facial_ features that Stefan Yusgov possessed. Oh, no. The fact that he was naked from the waist up and had only a teeny white towel to save him from being accused of indecent exposure in public also aided a lot to the fact. _Manwhore._

It was at this very moment the Adonis Come to Life opened his mouth and spoke. "Well, well, well... What _do_ we have here?"

His Russian accent and debonair air gave a dangerous edge to his words, as he propped his arm against the door and leant slightly onto it.

Cassy's sexy little smile grew wider and sexier.

Jess' breathing quickened very slightly. But a lot more audible.

Adel's face grew redder (Evanne had not considered that possible), and her gaze more focused on the floor.

Evanne grew more _annoyed_. She could feel the herbal salve squishing between her fingers as they curled inwards. Opening her mouth, she started to ask if James was within the room—

–_Only_ to be interrupted.

"Hi. I'm Cassy." Said girl tilted her head coquettishly and widened her smile even further at Stefan. Glancing downwards, Evanne noted sardonically that he was not unaffected. Oh, no, au contraire.

"Cassy. It's such a pleasure to meet you." Mr. I-Have-Such-A-Deep-Voice-And-A-Sexy- Russian-Accent murmured, favouring her with a flirtatious smile of his own. Evanne opened her mouth again to remind them for the time and that it would be quite all right for them to chat, but _please_, wouldn't they continue socialising _after_ she had gotten her bandages and cease to drip green _slime_ over the floor?

But of course, Mr. Evanne-Finds-_You_-More-Irritating-By-The-Minute chose _that_ particular moment to bestow his _favours_ upon Jess and Adel.

_Omigawd_, he's so _hawt_! _N-O-T_.

Evanne felt like screaming in frustration and yanking her hair out. But that would require her to take _another_ bath, so she chose to suppress the urge instead.

A stupid trickle of water –he must have just finished his bath— made its clichéd way down his perfectly formed collar bone, passed his nipple, and continued down, down, _down_...

It was rather obvious from the enraptured expressions on Cassy, Jess (who had by then given up all pretence of being aloof) and Adel (who had also given up the pretence of being shy) that they had _absolutely_ no trouble at all in envisioning the destination of the droplet's journey.

"I am Yusgov. Stefan Yusgov." He well, erm, _purred_, for want of a better word. Evanne could not think of another adjective to describe his tone; because it did really bring to mind a cat sunning itself lazily in the sun. She was standing slightly behind the door, so Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Sexy could not see her. Or rather, he could have seen her... if he would just shift _slightly_ to his right. "And these two lovely ladies are...?"

Evanne chose that moment to step out behind the door, giving Mr. James-Bond-Wannabe quite a scare as punishment for turning her friends to gooey shells. She spoke quickly, taking advantage of his sagging against the doorframe. "Jessica and Adelyna. Hullo. Name's Evanne. Say, is James in there?. (And this was uttered rather pointedly.) We came by to see _him_."

Evanne was pleased to note that she seemed to have disconcerted Stefan (-_ie_? Perhaps...) Flashing him an artificially bright smile that was tinged with condescending civility, she continued, "I wanted to get some bandages from him, y'see."

Evanne was convinced that Stefan Yusgov was placed on Earth for purely ornamental purposes by his next words. He blinked, then uttered, "What do you need bandages for?"

Didn't he realise that he had just given her a perfect opening? Ignoring the simultaneous Stop-Bullying-The-Guy-And-Let-Us-Oogle-Him pinches on her waist and back by Cassy and Jess respectively –Adel was too overwhelmed by Stefan to do so, she gave him another fake simper. Evanne had always harboured an active and intense dislike for dumb but gorgeous people. She didn't know _why_ though. They just irritated her.

Anyway, she took a deep breath and bellowed, "_This_!"

And shoved her greenish, slimy, lumpish hands into his face. Well, not really. It was more like leaving half an inch of space between her hands and his visage.

He uttered a strangled yell and leapt –yes, _leapt_— away from her alien-looking hands. Unfortunately (for him), his leap was miscalculated, and he ended up stumbling over a pile of clothes to land on his bum (and from the sound of it, it wasn't a soft landing at all) on the floor. Adel, Cassy and Jess gasped in harmony before running to Yusgov's aid.

Evanne barely could restrain herself from cackling and rubbing her hands together. She didn't know why, but she_ just did not like_ Stefan Yusgov. Hmm. It must have been because of all that smarmy charm oozing out of him like discoloured pus.

Stepping over him, she started towards the closed bathroom door, behind which sounds of an ongoing shower could be heard. Evanne wondered absently if Mr. I'm-Obviously-Hetero took his shower _along_ with James, or before James.

She snickered softly. Surely it was the latter. Knowing the personalities of Stefan Yusgov's _type_, he was most probably a homophobe as well.

She raised a hand to knock on the bathroom door, but it swung open before her knuckle could come into contact with the wooden surface. Thus, her fist was positioned in such a way that it would appear to an observer that she was trying to smash it through James' throat. The statement "it's not what it looks like!" would be very appropriate for this instant.

"_Evie_!" He yelped, one hand going down reflexively to tighten his grip on his towel. Evanne noted that it looked _very much _longer than his roommate's. "What are _you_ doing here?"

She gave him her most wheedling smile and held up her hands, giving her best _Oliver Twist_ imitation. "Please, sir, can I some bandages?"

He snorted and stared guiltily at her glop-covered hands. "Was that all? You could have called me and asked me to bring it over to your room! Did Alex and the others' supplies all run out?"

Evanne squelched her smirk and went with him to the cupboard beneath the shared study desk, listening with half a ear to Yusgov's groans in the background and Adel, Cassy and Jess' concerned exclamations over his state of well-being.

That leap had _totally_ made her day.

* * *

A/N: Boothers, darling, art ye happy? Anyway. **_Review, people._**


End file.
